By Lauren Boisvert
Letter to Sylvia Plath
Dear Sylvia, Ms. Plath,
There is a curl to your hair that I admire.
There is a quirk to your mouth – black and white photo –
and it speaks to something deep and treacherous in you,
something red and see through like a shard of stained glass,
jagged edges, rough biting teeth – “such queer moons
we live with” – you with your collar buttoned all the way up,
hair pinned but not brushed, little smirk smile and eyes
like dull marbles, your cheeks pale pink moons
and your mind like a beehive filled with cluttered rooms.
You are a queen among dead men. You are a ghost in the graveyard
but not for much longer.
Spectrum love poem
He is a pink shadow over you,
satin ballet ribbons, pointe shoes dyed
sinister black like dark magic.
You feel good like warm magenta,
a calm forest green under the rain,
blue like the ocean in a child’s drawing.
He makes you turn a hot red because
he stretches his limbs like something unreal,
twisting up into harsh orange shapes
Until he turns a satisfied purple,
pink in the cheeks and grinning.
Lauren Boisvert is a junior at the University of Central Florida majoring in creative writing. She has had poems published in Mochila Review, Young Writers Anthology, and Broken Plate Journal. One time she walked really close to David Sedaris while he was signing books. This is her favorite story to tell to strangers.